Fractured
by Trn736
Summary: Stan gets injured during a game of basketball.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All places and characters referenced to the television show _South Park_ are the property of Trey Parker and Matt Stone

"Alright, children; make sure you don't forget to do your math homework for tomorrow. The questions are 1-15 odds only on page 235 and – Garrison was interrupted by the three o'clock bell – 2-20 evens only on page 236. Have a nice afternoon!"

All of the kids gathered up their things and headed for the hallway.

"So what are you doing this afternoon?" Kyle asked Stan as they reached their lockers.

"I don't know. I'll probably do this stupid math homework and then play videogames for a while. How about you?"

"Cartman thinks he can take me in a game of basketball. He was gloating about how much better he is than me at every aspect of it after we played during recess earlier. Can you believe that?" he said, throwing everything but his math book onto the shelf in his locker

"Cartman?" Stan closed his locker, "Yeah, I can believe that!"

Kyle giggled as the two headed toward the door.

"I know, right? So I challenged him to shut him up but he actually accepted!"

"Really?" Stan was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, but he's to chicken to play me one on one so he got Kenny as a partner and wants to play a two on two."

"And you want me to be your partner?" Stan anticipated what was coming next.

"Yeah! We could totally cream those guys! We've done it before."

"I don't know dude… I got this math homework to do and…," Stan's voice was laced with disinterest.

"Please!" Kyle begged.

"I was just kidding, dude! Of course I'll be your partner!" He laughed.

"Man, you actually had me worried I was going to have to go find someone else to help me put Cartman in his place!"

"So when's the game?" Stan asked as they exited the school.

"Right now," Kyle beckoned toward the basketball courts on school ground where Cartman and Kenny were already dribbling a ball.

"This better not take too long… I need to be home soon," Stan followed.

"Me too. This shouldn't take long," they both chuckled as they approached the other two boys.

"Stan, huh? I told you Kenny!" Cartman threw the ball to him.

"First team to 25 points wins. Alright, Jew; are you ready to do this?"

Stan and Kyle took their positions on the court, "Bring it on fat boy!"

The first few minutes of the game were a pretty even trade. Stan and Kyle scored first but Cartman and Kenny quickly answered back. A surprisingly even number of points were traded until Kyle sunk a three-pointer and their team pulled ahead.

"Come on Kenny!" Cartman panted as he tried to guard the ball from his defender: Stan. "Get open Kenny! I can't do anything with Stan on my balls!"

Kenny juked left and right trying to break Kyle's defense but wherever he went, Kyle shadowed quickly.

"Gah! Screw it!" Cartman grasped the ball and attempted a shot, Stan bumped into him trying to swat the shot away.

"Foul!" Cartman yelled as the ball fell depressingly short of the hoop.

"Foul?" Stan was confused.

Cartman walked over to the ball and grabbed it up.

"I get at least one free shot for that!"

"I don't think so, Cartman! Stan barely even touched you!" Kyle interjected.

"Did so!" He pouted.

"Fouls exist because player behavior that jeopardizes the safety of another player is unacceptable, especially since basketball is a non-contact sport. There was no potential for injury there, Cartman. I mean Stan bumping into you didn't even shift your massive body weight, let alone put you in any danger of bodily harm," Kyle continued, "No foul!"

Cartman grimaced as he threw the ball toward Kyle, hard.

"Don't be a baby, Cartman! We still have a game to play."

Kyle stepped to the sideline.

"17-12, our lead," he called as he inbounded the ball to Stan.

Stan received the ball in heavy traffic but managed to weave between his two opponents into the open with a clear run to the other hoop.

"Go Stan!" Kyle cheered running up the court.

Stan quickly dribbled up to the three-point line and fluidly transitioned into a charged three-point jumper, he did not get the chance to follow through completely as he was violently shoved off balance in mid-air. He extended his arms instinctively in an attempt to cushion his backward fall. Stan landed hard on the solid-cement basketball court.

"Now _that_ is a foul, Cartman – the three point shot is all net – Three points plus two free shots!" Kyle smirked at Cartman.

"Two shots?! That was not a foul!" Cartman whined.

"That was the _definition _of a foul, Cartman. You could have really hurt Stan!"

The slight pause in conversation was filled with a faint whimpering.

"Stan?" Kyle turned to the boy who was still on the ground, cradling his right arm to his chest.

"Stan?!" He rushed to the side of his super best friend and kneeled down beside him. Cartman and Kenny walked over.

Kyle could see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Stan, what's wrong?!" Kyle was very concerned.

"It – it hurts… It really, really hurts…," He sniveled, pulling his arm closer to his body.

"What hurts?!"

"My – my wrist…," he mewled.

"Oh, please. He's just over dramatizing it so he can get the foul shots! The pros do it all the time!" Cartman dismissed Stan's 'injury'.

"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle snapped, "I think you really did hurt him!"

"Well I guess that means we won the game then, doesn't it, Kahl?" Cartman beamed. "I told you I was better at basketball than you, Jew! Come on, Kenny; let's get out of here. We can go to my house and you can watch me eat some dinner. Maybe I'll give you the scraps"

Kenny turned back to give a concerned look at his other two friends before walking off with Cartman back toward his house.

Kyle shrugged off the fat boy's stupidity and blatant lack of empathy or remorse and turned back to his hurt friend.

"Let me see it, Stan," Kyle held out his hand.

Stan moaned painfully as he slowly extended his right arm out to Kyle.

Kyle observed a large black and blue area around his buddy's already visibly swollen wrist.

"Can you move it?"

Stan gingerly tried to move his wrist.

Unsuccessful, the boy merely shook his head no.

"I think this is serious, Stan."

He was full-on crying by this point.

"It'll be okay, dude," Kyle soothed, patting him on the leg. "We need to get you home. Are you okay to walk?"

Stan nodded and extended his left arm to Kyle for help up.

The two quickly made their way back to the Marsh residence. Considering the circumstance, Kyle let himself in unbeknownst with Stan in toe still cradling his arm.

"Mrs. Marsh!" Kyle yelled.

"Kyle? Stanley? Is that you?" Sharon's voice echoed from the kitchen, "I spent all day cooking your dad's favorite dish for dinner tonight and it turns it he has to work late! And on top of that Shelly is going out to eat with some of her friends tonight! We'll have a lot of extra food if you want to stay for dinner, Kyle."

"Mrs. Marsh, please! This is an emergency!"

The sounds of rustlings pots and pans and the sounds of dropping cooking utensils could be heard as she rushed out of the kitchen into the living room where her crying son and his distraught best friend were standing side by side.

"Stanley?!" She rushed over to her son, "What happened?!"

"We – we were playing basketball and Cartman pushed Stan during a shot and I think he's really hurt!" Kyle stammered.

Sharon took her son's left hand and led him to the couch.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"My wr-wrist hurts…"

"Can I see it?"

Stan held his arm out just as he had showed Kyle.

She observed the bruises and swelling as well and gently touched the area with the backside of her fingertips to see how bad the swelling was, this caused Stan to yelp in pain.

"I'm sorry, sweetie!" She rubbed circles on his back to calm him down.

"Can you move it for me?"

Without wanting to cause himself any more unnecessary pain, he just shook his head no without trying again.

"Kyle, can you grab me the ice pack from the freezer and a towel from the drawer in the kitchen, please?"

He nodded and ran to the kitchen.

"You'll be alright, Stanley," she pulled him into a gentle embrace, lulling him.

Kyle promptly returned with the ice pack and towel and handed them to Sharon.

"Can I see your arm again, please?" Sharon extended her arm to support her son's above the point of injury. "This might hurt a little bit but we need to do it, okay?"

Stan was worried but agreed nonetheless.

"Kay…"

Sharon carefully placed the ice pack on the affected area and began snuggly wrapping the towel around it and Stan's lower forearm to stabilize it.

This pressure induced intense pain and again reduced Stan to tears.

"Okay, Stanley. Can you be a big boy for me?"

"Yeah…," he sniffed and exhaled deeply.

"Alright, sweetheart. We need to take you to the hospital; I think your wrist might be broken."


	2. Chapter 2

"Hos-hospital; br-broken?" Stan's face quickly paled.

"Keep that towel snug, honey. I'll turn off the oven and get my keys," Sharon hurried back into the kitchen.

Kyle was speechless.

"I'm okay…! I-I don't need to go to the – the hospital!" His voice was cracking.

The injured boy lifted his hurt arm out in front of his body trying to move it.

"I'm – I'm okay…," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself before looking up at Kyle.

As they made eye contact, Kyle could see the pain and fear in his super best friend's eyes; his heart sank.

He took a seat next to Stan on the couch.

"Everything will be okay, Stan," he scooted close.

"I promise…," he said, slinging his arm over Stan's shoulders and pulling him close.

Stan was literally shaking.

"But _you_ know you need to go to the hospital, dude," Kyle released Stan from his comforting embrace.

"Yeah…," Stan responded shakily, wiping his eyes with his left hand.

"Alright, boys; let's go," Sharon beckoned them to the door.

Kyle opened the rear car door for Stan and crawled in after him.

Speeding through traffic, Sharon wasted no time in getting to the hospital.

As the vehicle rounded the turn into the parking lot designated by the red _Emergency Room_ sign, Stan felt like he was going to be sick.

Kyle sensed this.

"Just take a deep breath, man. The hospital isn't a bad place; they're going to take care of you and make you feel better," he reassured.

"Just breathe…"

The car came to a stop in a parking place just adjacent to the ER door.

Sharon exited and opened the rear door on Stan's side extending her hand to him.

"Come on, sweetheart."

He grasped it tightly with his uninjured hand as she led him into the building with Kyle following closely.

The nurse behind the station near the sliding doors stood up as the trio entered.

"How can I help you?" Her eyes immediately focused on Stan.

"I think my son may have broken his wrist," Sharon's voice was filled urgency.

"Alright, Ma'am; I'll just need you to fill out these forms first and we'll get him taken care of," she handed Sharon a clipboard and pen.

She sighed, clearly annoyed as she began to move toward the waiting area.

"Come on, Stanley."

Stan followed her around the corner and took a seat by the window; Kyle took the seat beside him.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only the speedy movement of pen on paper.

"So… How you doing?" Kyle looked at Stan, trying to break the silence.

"How – how do you think I'm doing, Kyle?!" He barked.

His retort was an obvious combination of fear, frustration, and pain.

Kyle could see him clenching his left fist as more tears stung at his eyes.

"Sorry…"

"Okay," Sharon spoke as she finished the paperwork and walked it back to the nurse station.

"Alright," the nurse grabbed a folder from the table and motioned to Stan, "Come with me."

She led them down the hallway to the second room on the right.

"Take a seat right there, dear," she pointed Stan to the exam room bed as Kyle and Sharon sat down on the two chairs against the wall.

"I just need to take some quick vital signs. Okay, Stanley? It's procedure."

Stan's lack of a response spoke consent.

She proceeded to take his temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, and record his respiratory rate.

"Temp: 98 degrees, heart rate: 113 BPM, blood pressure: 134/92, respiratory rate: 27 breaths per minute," she read aloud recording the information.

"Okay, Stanley; the doctor should be with you soon," she smiled as she exited the room.

A few minutes later, the doctor entered.

"Hi there, Stanley," he patted him on the back, "It's nice to meet you. You too Mrs. Marsh," he turned toward Sharon.

"Likewise," she responded.

"Now what did you do, Stanley?"

"I hu-hurt my – my wrist," he hiccupped.

"Let's take a look at it," the doctor began to gently unwrap his home-made splint.

"So, what grade are you in, bud?"

"F-fourth."

"Fourth grade? Wow! What's your favorite subject?"

Stan had to think about that one for a minute before responding.

"H-history… I guess."

"I liked history a lot back in grade school too. It was always better than having to do math homework every single night."

"I know!" Stan exclaimed with a hint of cheerfulness in his tone.

Once the home-made splint had been removed, he observed the large bruise on his right wrist and examined the swelling of the injured area.

"Now what were you doing that could have caused this?"

"P-playing b-basketball…"

The doctor's touch caused Stan to yelp in pain.

"Ouch… That looks like it hurts a lot."

Stan nodded furiously, gritting his teeth.

"I'll get you something to make it feel better. I'll be right back."

He exited the room and promptly returned not a minute later.

"Take this, buddy. It should take some of that pain away," he handed Stan a small paper cup with a medium sized white pill in it.

The doctor turned to Sharon.

"I'm giving him a 15mg dose of codeine, he looks like he's in some pretty good pain; it should take the edge off. It's a fairly strong pain killer for someone his age; he might be sleepy or a little out of it for a while.

"We're going to need to get an X-ray of that wrist," he continued, "I already called imaging and they're setting up the room now," he turned back to Stan, "It'll be just a few minutes and we can get you down there and take a look at what's going on. One of our X-ray techs will come and get you when they're ready."

"I'll be back to talk with you after we get the images," he said, stepping out of the small room.

As hard as he was trying to keep it together, Stan looked like he was about to lose it at the thought of needing an X-ray.

Sharon stood up and moved beside him.

"X-rays don't hurt at all, honey," she soothed.

Stan still looked skeptical.

"They really don't!" Kyle chimed in. I've had one before, they don't hurt at all."

"You – you have…?" Stan looked up.

"Yeah!" Kyle began, "Remember that soccer game in first grade? When I fell and really twisted my ankle?"

Stan looked unsure.

"How my mom was going to take me to the hospital and you didn't want to play anymore because you wanted to come with me to make sure I was alright? And how for like the next week you hung out with me after school and we watched movies and stuff while everyone else played outside because you didn't want me to be lonely?"

"Oh… Yeah…," Stan remembered.

"They thought I may have broken my ankle then so I had to have an X-ray. It didn't hurt at all, I promise… It's okay to be a little scared though. I know I was…," Kyle looked off to the side.

Sharon nodded her head in agreement.

"See?" Stan cleared his throat, "That's why I didn't want you to go to the hospital alone…"

Kyle smiled at his super best friend.

"Stanley, another woman peaked in the door, "We're ready for you."

He looked at his mom and then at Kyle.

"Don't worry," she opened the door, "They can come along. They'll just have to stand behind a wall while I take the pictures," she motioned for everyone to follow her.

They trekked through the hallways and eventually ended up in a small room with a large white machine hanging from the ceiling in conjunction with a few other imaging and seating fixtures. In the far corner of the room there was a narrowly walled off windowed area with a bunch of computers.

The tech led Stan to the seat in the middle of the room next to a small table.

Sharon and Kyle took a place by behind the barrier by the computers.

"Have you ever had an X-ray before?" She asked, sitting him down and gently placing his injured arm onto the imaging plate.

"No…"

She could sense he was pretty nervous.

"Well this is an X-ray machine," she reached up and positioned it over his arm, "It's basically a giant camera that's going to let us see the bones in your wrist. After I set you up I'll go back to the computers and press a button to snap the picture a few times and you'll be done! Don't worry when you hear a clicking noise after I press the button; it's just the machine taking the picture. It won't hurt at all."

I'm going to help you move your arm into a position and you're going to have to keep it really still for me, okay?"

"Kay."

She moved behind the barrier.

"Alright, here we go!"

_Click, Click, Click._

"All done! Good job, Stanley!"

He was genuinely surprised it was over that fast.

The tech proceeded to lead them back to the exam room.

"The doctor will be back in as soon as he looks over the X-rays," she closed the door.

"That wasn't too bad, now was it Stanley? Sharon questioned.

"I guess not…"

"We told you!" Kyle laughed.

Shortly thereafter, the doctor walked back in carrying the X-rays.

"Well, Stanley; it looks like you did break your wrist," he hung the X-rays on the viewing stage and flipped the light on.

They all could clearly see the break in the bone on the picture.

"Oh my gosh!" Sharon gasped.

Stan felt like he was going to throw up looking at the picture.

Kyle even flinched at the sight.

"Normally we see buckle or greenstick fractures in children," the doctor explained, "Fractures where the most superficial layer of bone on one side is compressed and causes the other side to bend away from the growth plate but not actually separate apart; or fractures that extend through a portion of bone causing it to bend on the other side… But it looks like Stanley here has a complete distal fracture of the right radius."

"What does that mean?" Sharon asked, concerned with how serious it looked and sounded.

"It means that you had to land pretty hard!" He turned toward Stan, "It's a more severe break than the other two I talked about but luckily it was a clean and simple break that isn't going to require surgery or anything. We're just going have to cast it for six to eight weeks while the bones grow back together."

The doctor moved back toward the door, "I'll go get the supplies and we can get that on and get you out of here."

Stan was incredibly upset again and looked as if he could cry.

He returned with a plastic container of supplies and a small water bucket and pulled up a chair next to Stan.

"I'm only going to need to cast from about here to here," he indicated a section of Stan's right arm between about the first joint in his fingers to a little past the midpoint of his forearm.

"The cast is going to protect that broken bone and keep it in place while it heals back together. Because the cast is basically going to immobilize your wrist and its' surrounding muscles and ligaments; you shouldn't be in near as much pain," he turned to Sharon, "But if he complains about being in pain give him ibuprofen; that way it can help with any swelling as well."

"Alright," she acknowledged.

"Okay, Stanley; I'm going to explain to you exactly how this works. First I'm going to cover that area with something that is sort of like a glove or a sleeve. Then I'll wrap some cotton around it so it's more comfortable for you. After the cotton layer comes the hard layer; the actual cast. It goes on wet – that's why I have a bucket of water – and it hardens as it dries. Okay?"

Stan solemnly nodded his head and held out his arm.

As the doctor began his work manipulating materials around Stan's injured wrist, the pain was considerably duller compared to earlier.

"So, who is this?" He looked over at the quiet boy sitting by Sharon, "Your brother?"

"Basically… That's Kyle, he's my super best friend."

"_Super_ best friend?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know many fourth grade boys who would want to go hang around a hospital emergency room while their friend had X-rays and the whole nine yards. You're lucky to have a friend that cares about you so much, you know that?"

"I know"

He began wrapping the cotton layer.

"You said you were playing basketball; is that your favorite sport?"

"No… I like football more than basketball."

"Football, huh? What's your favorite team?"

"The Denver Broncos."

"True Colorado born and raised!" The doctor laughed.

"Now here's the fun part," he set out various different colors of fiberglass bandages, "You get to choose what color of cast you want!"

Stan looked at the display of colors, vexed by the doctor's joyous demeanor.

"I don't care," Stan replied in a bitter, ambivalent tone."

"You said the Broncos were your favorite football team. How about orange or blue?"

"You like blue, don't you, sweetie?" Sharon offered.

"Yeah! Blue would look cool, Stan!" Kyle added.

Stan looked back at the doctor and nodded.

"Blue it is!"

He began to rip open the bandage packages, dip them in water, and wrap them.

Finishing up, the doctor had to give one last speech.

"Three important things to remember, Stanley. One: make sure to keep this dry. Two: if it starts to itch, do not stick anything down in it to scratch. And three: make sure to take it easy on your right arm, you don't have to not do anything, but keep activity to a minimum."

By now the cast had pretty much hardened and Stan could feel how awkward it was going to be having this thing on.

"Make sure to elevate that wrist tonight until the swelling goes down a bit. And that's it! You handled this whole thing pretty well, Stanley. I'll see you back in about 8 weeks and we can get that cast off. You should be good to go."

"Thanks, doctor," Sharon said.

"You're welcome! Just give us a call if you need anything."

Sharon stood up and extended her hand to Stan once again. The three of them walked back out to the car and headed home.

The drive back to the Marsh house took place in complete silence.

"Good job, Stanley. I'm proud of you for being such a big boy tonight," Sharon said as they entered the house.

Stan just sighed as tried to take off his jacket.

Sharon saw him struggling to get it off and helped.

"I'll get you comfortable and start dinner back up, your father should be home soon now," she led him to the couch and undid his shoes before stacking a few pillows up on his right side to elevate his wrist. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, sweetie," she handed him the television remote and walked away.

Kyle sat down next to Stan as he flipped on the television, leaving the channel where it was – the evening news.

Kyle suffered through the boring show for countless minutes until he finally could not take it anymore.

"Interested in finding something else to watch, maybe? This is so boring!" He laughed.

"I don't know man…," Stan responded after a bit of a delay, "But I think that pain killer is workin pretty good right about now… I feel kinda dizzy."

"Do you want me to bring you a glass of water or something, honey?" Sharon called from the kitchen.

"I broke my wrist, not my leg!" Stan yelled, "If I want a glass of water I'll get up and get one!"

He stood up fast and wobbled before falling back on the couch.

"Stan?" Kyle was concerned.

"I'm tired! I'm just going to go bed!" He hollered.

He stood back up and made his way to the stairs, Kyle followed closely anticipating him to fall over again.

When Stan reached his room, he sat down in front of his computer and smacked his head down on the desk.

"Eight weeks, dude! I can't do anything that requires the use of two hands for eight weeks! I can't play football… I probably can't even play videogames… I mean, I'm not even going to be able to write!" He brooded.

Kyle sat in silence on Stan's bed.

"I'm sorry for making you play basketball with me… If I didn't have to prove Cartman wrong, this would have never happened…"

Kyle's voice was cracking this time.

Stan looked up at his almost crying super best friend and moved next to him on the foot of his bed.

"It's okay, dude…," Stan felt terrible for making Kyle feel like it was his fault. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah it is…," Kyle squeaked,

"No. It's not," this time Stan initiated a hug.

Kyle could feel the coarseness of fiberglass rubbing against the back of his jacket as he returned the embrace.

"Stan?" Kyle asked after a few moments.

"Yeah?" They let go of each other.

"I get to be the first person to sign your cast, right?"

"You don't get to be the first person," Stan got up and walked back to his desk to find a maker, "I'm making you be the first person," he handed Kyle a black permanent marker as both boys chuckled.

He chose the top center of the cast and signed: _Your SBF – Kyle _and drew a smiley face next to his name.

Stan smiled at him.

"Well, dude… I better get going back home. I'm probably already going to get yelled at for being so late; until I explain what went on, that is," Kyle got up and stopped at the door before he walked out of Stan's room.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow at school, right?"

"Right."


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Kyle was the first to the bus stop.

Shortly thereafter, Kyle could see Stan dragging his feet through the snow toward him. His cast was clearly visible under his right coat sleeve.

"Hey, dude," he sighed as he took his place next to Kyle.

"You look exhausted, Stan…," Kyle commented, observing the dark bags under his half-open eyes.

"I am… This thing is so annoying!" He held up his injured wrist, "I didn't really sleep at all last night because this stupid thing makes it impossible to get comfortable; and on top of that, it _really_ itches right now but I can't do anything about it!

"That's rough, man… You'll probably find a comfy position to sleep in tonight."

"Honestly, I don't think I'll care. I'm just going to be so tired tonight I'm hoping I just pass out and sleep until morning."

Kyle gave a lighthearted laugh.

"So, how does your wrist feel?"

"It doesn't feel too bad; my mom gave me some ibuprofen before I left. It doesn't hurt near as much as it did last night."

Kyle was a little relieved

A few minutes later, both Kenny and Cartman rounded the corner in view of the bus stop.

"Oh! No way?!" Cartman approached the two boys staring at Stan's casted wrist.

"Oh, God…," Kyle swore under his breath.

"Stan, you actually did break your wrist?" He stopped in front of the boy.

"Thanks to you, Cartman!" Stan yelled, fuming with anger.

Cartman was silent for a few moments before bursting into hysterical laughter.

"Dude!" Kenny punched him in the shoulder.

Kyle looked as if he ready to attack Cartman.

"Don't push it, Cartman!" Stan threatened, "This thing is pretty hard; one good smack across the head and you'd be the next one going to the hospital!"

The fat boy continued laughing uncontrollably.

Stan was furious. He took a step back to steady himself and then, with all of his strength, swung his casted arm back and smashed it into Cartman's head.

Cartman staggered back and fell into the snow.

"Ouch!" Stan gently shook his arm as the bus rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of them.

Kenny and Kyle boarded first, still chuckling from what had just happened, Stan followed last leaving Cartman lying in the snow.

As Kyle took his usual seat and Stan sat beside him, they watched Cartman stumble onto the bus, obviously still dazed and fall into an empty seat near the front.

"That was awesome dude!" Kyle exclaimed.

"He was getting on my nerves… It kind of really hurt a lot, though," they both laughed.

"But it was totally worth it!" Stan finished.

"Agreed!"

"Stan, what happened?!" Butters peaked over the seat in front of them.

"I – uh… Broke my wrist last night…," Stan felt embarrassed as he realized everyone was looking at him.

"Geez! Does it hurt?" Butters' voice was filled with concern.

"It did hurt a lot, but it doesn't hurt too bad right now."

"What did you do?" Token asked, leaning over their seat from the seat behind.

"I was playing basketball with Kyle and… Cartman pushed me down."

"Cartman?!" Tweek flinched in his seat across the aisle.

"You should kick his ass," Craig stated, "I could help you if you want."

"Thanks, dude but I think I put him in his place; at least for a little bit."

"But you're still going to be able to play football with us, right?" Clyde questioned.

"I don't know… If I can, I probably won't be playing quarter back unless I learn to throw with my left hand."

"Dang..."

"How long do you have to wear that thing?" Kenny chimed in from a few rows back.

"The doctor said about eight weeks…"

Groaning was the universal, crowd-wide response.

"I know… It's gonna suck…," Stan trailed off as the bus came to a stop at the school.

Everyone disembarked and headed inside the school.

Stan and Kyle walked together to their lockers.

Kyle grabbed his books and turned to his friend.

He could see Stan was having a difficult time managing the three textbooks he was trying to hold under his left arm.

"Here, dude; I'll help you," Kyle took two of the books and closed his locker.

"Thanks."

The two of them headed to their fourth grade classroom and took a seat just before the bell rang.

"Alright, class. We're going to start today by handing in the math homework I assigned you all yesterday," Mr. Garrison moved to the center of the classroom.

"Oh, crap!" Stan whispered.

"What?" Kyle leaned over.

"I totally forgot to do my math homework last night!"

Kyle almost laughed out loud.

"Don't worry, dude. I'm sure Mr. Garrison will understand; just tell him."

Stan raised his non-injured hand.

"Yes, Stanley?"

"I – uh – forgot to do my math homework last night…," he looked down at his desk expecting to be yelled at.

Garrison observed Stan's freshly casted lower arm.

"That's okay, Stanley. Just get it to me when you can."

"Whew," he took a deep breath.

Cartman raised his hand next.

"Yes, Eric…?" Mr. Garrison sighed.

"I forgot to do my math homework last night too."

"Then you get a zero," he said, concisely.

"Why is it okay for Stan but not okay for me?!" Cartman yelled.

"Because he probably spent most of last night in the hospital; you don't have an excuse, Eric!" He yelled back.

"That's a bunch of bull crap!"

Garrison just shook his head as he started handing out pieces of paper.

"This morning we're going to do some more practice problems like the ones we did yesterday. Work through as much of this worksheet as you can before lunch and we'll talk about afterward," he moved back to the chair behind his desk, "And don't forget to show all of your work."

As the rest of the class began working on the assignment, Stan contemplated how he was going to go about this.

First, he decided to try writing with his right hand. After finally getting a grip on his pencil, he began writing out the first problem. It was slow-going and tiring, as he was holding the pencil with his fingertips and having to move pretty much his whole lower arm with each stroke since his wrist was immobilized.

After quickly deciding the amount of effort he had to put into writing with his injured hand was not worth it, he switched the pencil to his left.

This was easier but still just as painfully slow. Stan had to concentrate and really try to print the numbers with his off hand – they were still barely readable.

After about 15 minutes of Kyle looking up and seeing Stan struggling, he walked up to the front of the classroom.

"Mr. Garrison?"

"Yes, Kyle?" He looked up from his book.

"Would it be okay if I worked with Stan, since he's having a hard time writing?"

He glanced at the right-handed boy attempting to use his left.

"I suppose that would be alright, Kyle. Just don't go giving him all of the answers, though."

"I won't, Mr. Garrison."

Kyle walked back to his desk and pushed it together with Stan's.

"Kyle?" He was confused.

"I can see how hard of a time you're having trying to write down all this math work, so I asked Garrison if we could work together. He said yes," Kyle whispered.

"Sweet!" Stan whispered back.

Kyle moved his worksheet closer between them and added _& Stan Marsh_ to the name line.

"Mr. Garrison said I couldn't just give you the answers, but he didn't say we had to go back and talk about the ones I already did," Kyle smirked,

Both boys muffled a laugh.

The duo had cumulatively completed the majority of the worksheet when the lunch bell rang.

"We'll talk about those problems when you get back from lunch!" Garrison waved them out.

"What do you want for lunch today?" Kyle asked Stan as they walked into the cafeteria.

"I think Salisbury steak is the only thing on the menu today, isn't it?"

"I guess so…," Kyle looked at the lunch board.

"Why?"

"I just wanted to know what you wanted. Go find us a table to sit at; I'll bring you your tray so you don't have to carry everything."

"Are you sure, dude? I can get my own lunch."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just go find us a table."

"Alright," Stan went and claimed their normal table.

Kyle eventually walked out from behind the line area with two trays of food. He sat one in front of Stan and sat his down across from his best friend.

"I got you chocolate milk, I know that's what you like," Kyle took the small milk carton out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Stan.

Stan smiled, "Thanks, Kyle."

"Man, this definitely isn't how Chef used to make it…," Kyle poked at the chunk of meat on his tray.

"God, I know! There's so much rubber in here, it's hard to cut!" Stan laughed, holding his tray in place with his right arm and trying to cut it with the fork in his left hand.

"Need some help there, Stan?" Kyle chuckled.

"Uh…," Stan stopped and looked up, "Help with what…?"

"Cutting your steak… You're obviously having problems."

"I don't need you to cut my food, Kyle! I can do it…," he looked away, embarrassed.

"I know you can, dude. But lunch only lasts 30 minutes, not four hours," Kyle grabbed his tray from under him and began slicing up the chewy steak.

Stan's face turned about 10 shades of red.

"There you go!" He slid the food back to Stan.

"Thanks…"

As lunch finished and everyone returned to class, the rest of the day passed without a hitch.

"So, Kyle; do you want to come over to my house and help me work through that other math assignment from yesterday?" Stan asked as they walked back to their lockers.

"Sure!" Kyle replied enthusiastically sitting Stan's books on the top shelf, "I still got most of the work in my notebook; it was pretty easy. It shouldn't take long."

"Sweet!" Stan threw the rest of his stuff in.

"Hey, Stan?" He turned around to Butters and a small crowed of people gathered behind him.

"We saw Kyle signed your cast and – wul – we were wandering if we could s-sign it too?" Butters smiled warmly at the boy.

"S-sure." Stan was surprised by the size of the group of kids and held out his arm.

Butters pulled a marker out of his pocket and signed: _Get well soon! – Butters_ before passing it to the next person.

_Clyde D. - _he drew a small football next to his name and passed the marker on.

_Feel better, dude – Kenny _was written in sloppy print; it was passed again.

_Tweek _– was quickly scribbled and the marker traded hands again.

_Token Black _was signed in cursive before he handed the marker off to the final person.

_Craig, _he gave the marker back to Butters saying "Just remember to ask me if you want help beating up the fat boy sometime."

Stan looked down at all the names now on his cast and still was a bit stunned they all cared enough to do something like that.

"Thanks for signing my cast, guys!" He beamed.

"Don't mention it, Stan." Butters and the other boys smiled as they walked away.

Before he turned around, Stan felt a tapping on his shoulder.

"Can I sign it too, Stan?" He turned around to face Wendy.

"I guess…," he responded, avoiding eye contact.

She pulled out a marker and motioned for his arm.

Stan bit his lip.

_Wendy _– she drew a heart next to her name.

"There!"

"Thanks…"

"I'd better be getting home… I'll talk to you later," she said, walking off.

"Yeah…," Stan replied still looking at the ground.

"Are you ready to go now, Mr. popular?" Kyle smirked.

Stan nodded and the two headed back to the Marsh residence where they quickly finished yesterday's math homework.

"Now that that's done do you want to play some video games or something?" Kyle asked through a yawn, stretching on the floor.

"I tried picking up the controller this morning out of curiosity and I can barely hold onto it, let alone play anything efficiently!" Stan frowned.

Kyle studied the sad look on his super best friend's face.

"How about a computer game? Maybe a mouse would be easier to handle?" He walked over to Stan's computer, "There's this RPG I play sometimes that doesn't require you to move to fast or anything and it's still a really good game!"

Stan was intrigued.

Kyle downloaded the game and started it up.

"Give it a try!"

Stan took the seat in front of his desk and tried playing.

A few minutes later, Kyle could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Having to hold my hand in this weird position to grip the mouse is actually really starting to make my wrist hurt…"

"Switch it to left-hand mode?"

He did this and changed positions.

A few awkward moments later; "This is even harder than trying to play with my right hand!"

"Just practice, you'll get used to it. Do you want to be able to play video games or not?" Kyle laughed

"I suppose you're right…," he trailed off.

"Thanks again for helping me today, dude…"

"No problem! I hope Garrison lets us work together at least until you can write something other than scribbles with your left hand!" Kyle teased.

"I guess today wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be." Stan commented.

"That's the spirit! Eight weeks will go by in no time!"


	4. Chapter 4

"I think you're finally starting to get the hang of this whole writing-with-your-left-hand thing," Kyle picked himself off Stan's floor and handed him back his paper , "I got the same thing for number 17."

"You really think my left-handed writing is getting better?"

"Defiantly, dude. Compared to about 7 weeks ago, this looks fantastic."

Stan flipped his notebook back a few pages to look at some writing from a few weeks ago.

"Wow… It does look good compared to that, I guess."

"I think it almost looks better than your right-handed writing," Kyle laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Stan whirled around in his chair and narrowed his eyes, "I have good handwriting!"

"Good compared to what? The way Kenny scribbles?" He laughed harder.

"Well, that's better than someone; isn't it?!" Stan yelled.

"Dude, a chicken's handwriting is probably better than yours," Kyle antagonized.

"Alright! That's it!" Stan lunged out of his chair and tackled Kyle onto his bed, wrestling him into a choke hold with his right arm.

"Jesus, Stan!" Kyle coughed, "I take it back! I take it back!"

Stan loosend his grip.

"So how's my handwriting, Kyle?" He asked again.

"Worse than Kenny's!" Kyle giggled as he struggled out of Stan's grip and pulled him into a reversal.

The two boys wrestled off the bed onto the floor and continued for several minutes.

"Okay… Okay...," Stan panted, "Maybe my handwriting isn't that good," he let go of Kyle and sat up against the wall.

"It's alright, dude. I was just giving you a bad time…," Kyle huffed, pulling himself next to Stan.

Kyle spoke after the two had regained their breath, "After that I'd say your wrist is feeling pretty good, right?"

"Yeah! I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow; I might be able to get this stupid cast off!" Stan beamed.

"Oh, yeah! I forgot you said that yesterday."

"Kyle!" Sharon called from downstairs.

"Yeah?" Kyle yelled back.

"Your mom called and said you need to be home for dinner in about 10 minutes!"

"Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Marsh!"

Kyle stood up and adjusted his clothes, "What time is your appointment?"

"It's in the morning so I probably won't be at school tomorrow."

"Dang…"

Stan stood up and adjusted his clothes as well, "Come over after school tomorrow, I should be home by then. Okay?

"Alright, dude." Kyle moved toward the door, "Good luck!"

"Thanks."

"Well, Stanley," the doctor walked back into the exam room with a fresh set of X-rays, "It looks like that bone is all healed up. Does it hurt at all?"

"No, it hasn't hurt in a while," Stan remarked.

"Then I think we're ready to get that thing off! I'll just grab my tools and you should be out of here soon," he stepped out of the room.

"You hear that, Stan? You get your cast off!" Sharon smiled.

Stan could not help being a little excited.

A few moments later, the doctor entered the room with some sort of big vacuum looking machine.

"Uh… What's that?" Stan asked staring at the almost-intimidating machine.

"It's a medical saw; I'm going to use it to cut through the hard layer of your cast to get it off!"

"A – a saw…?" Stan seemed a little nervous.

"It won't hurt you," he reassured, "the blade is pretty much just a dull disc that's good at cutting through casts and nothing else, see?" The doctor turned on the machine and held the blade to his arm, nothing happened.

"Alright," Stan felt better.

"This shouldn't take long. Just hold still," He sawed Stan's cast into two pieces and it came right off.

Stan looked down at his slightly discolored, semi-flaky lower arm as he flexed his newly-freed right wrist, "Gross…"

"Your skin should return to normal after a few days, nothing abnormal there," the doctor began, "Just make sure you take it easy with that wrist for a while. Since you haven't been using it for almost eight weeks the muscles around it are going to be weak and will need to be built back up again before they're fully back to normal… If you get too rough too soon you'll be right back here and will probably need something more than a cast next time – like surgery. Okay?"

Stan nodded his head quickly, thoroughly afraid of the repercussions.

"I suppose there's only one last thing to do here," he turned to Stan.

Stan looked at him questioningly.

"You just need to decide if you want to keep a part of your cast to remember this or not," he chuckled.

Stan looked at his mom, seeking an opinion.

"It's up to you, honey."

Stan examined the two pieces on the table closely before picking one up.

"I'll take this half."

"Alright, Stanley, Sharon; you should be good to go."

"Thanks – Thanks a lot, doctor," Stan and Sharon said in unison.

"You're welcome! Just remember to be careful, Stanley. You're a nice kid and all, but I don't want to see you back here anytime soon," he smiled as he exited the room.

"I will…," Stan sighed.

_Knock, Knock, Knock_

Sharon opened up the door and was quickly greeted by Kyle.

"Hey, Mrs. Marsh!"

"Stan's up in his room, Kyle," she opened the door wider, knowing exactly who the fourth grader was looking for.

"Thanks!" Kyle hurried up the stairs to Stan's room.

He knocked on the door once before letting himself in.

"Hey, dude!" Kyle greeted, excitedly.

"Hey!" Stan spun around in his desk chair.

Kyle's attention immediately turned to the other boy's discolored, generally odd looking – but not casted – lower right arm.

"Dude! What happened to your arm?!"

"I got my cast off!" Stan replied happily.

"No. I mean, why is it all, like, weird?"

"There's been a cast covering it for almost eight weeks, Kyle… The skin should be back to normal in a few days but it may take longer for the muscles to get back to where they were since I wasn't using it."

"I suppose that makes sense…," Kyle let it go.

"So, how does it feel to have that thing off?"

"It feels fantastic!" Stan stood up and extended his right hand to Kyle in a handshake-like motion.

Kyle gripped it and gave it a firm shake as both boys laughed.

"So, I read about how they take those things off with a saw; did it hurt?" Kyle asked.

"No. It didn't hurt at all, surprisingly. The blade is really dull or something."

"Oh, cool!"

"Yeah," Stan replied.

"The only thing I was wondering is; what do they do with the cast once they cut it off?"

"Well I actually decided to keep a part of it so I'll always remember this," Stan walked over to his dresser and pointed to half of his cast.

"Why would you possibly want to remember something like breaking your wrist?" He questioned, walking to the dresser beside Stan.

Kyle examined the piece of Stan's cast and saw it was the side he had signed his name on nearly eight weeks ago.

"Because it wasn't all bad," Stan smiled as he slung his arm around his super best friend.


End file.
